Love Not
by RedandLizzie
Summary: Picks up at the Red and Liz embrace in S2E8 as the "suggestion" of Liz possibly loving Tom... well, that's troublesome to say the least and needs to be set right. Also includes a little insight into how Liz feels about the warrior gene. [Lizzington]
1. Chapter 1

**Love. Not.**

**Note: **Picks up at the Red and Liz embrace in S2E8 as the "suggestion" of Liz possibly loving Tom... well, that's troublesome to say the least, and needs to be set right. Also includes a little insight into how Liz feels about the warrior gene.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Blacklist or these wonderful characters - the brilliant Jon Bokenkamp and NBC do. This is a transformative work and no money is being made from this story.

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Liz felt relief the moment she told Red the truth, that she couldn't do it, couldn't kill Tom. And when Red looked at her with a heartfelt and tender expression, describing how powerless it is to love, the last of the rage she had embraced for months fell away, spinning her into a seemingly frequent state of mind and Liz uttered the confusion that enveloped her, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Red approached as he replied, "There's nothing wrong with you," placing a kiss above her eyebrow, his hand stroking her hair, pulling her closer with the arm wrapped around her upper back, before he again said, "There's nothing wrong with you."

Liz tightened the grip she held high on his side, while fisting the material at the opening of his jacket with her other hand. She closed her eyes as the tension left her body, his cheek soft and reassuring against her temple. She then felt him press another kiss into her hair before resting against her.

Red was warm and he smelled of faint aftershave and cigars, and she briefly wondered when he smoked as she had only witnessed that one time, months ago. She let out a deep breath, happy the lie was over, knowing Mr. Kaplan was far better equipped to dispose of the harbor master's remains. But more than that, she reveled in the feel of having Red again, having him close, the strain of her often forced anger toward him ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide. She sighed and uncurled the fingers of her right hand, releasing the material of his jacket before moving her hand to flatten her palm above the top of his vest, between his pectoral muscles.

She felt the soft grip he had on her bicep relax and then his hand began to stroke through her hair again. Liz swallowed hard as tears welled, spilling over her lashes and sliding onto her cheek before making contact with Red's skin. He stepped back slightly, his brow furrowed, moving his hand to the side of her face before brushing away the moisture with his thumb. She saw his eyes divert over her shoulder and she assumed he was looking at Dembe. When his eyes came back to hers, he quietly said, "Time to go. An associate will be here soon to take care of this and the fewer people seen the better."

Liz gave a nod and took a small step back, dropping her hand from his side but maintaining her palm just to the right of his heart. As Red tilted his head, looking her in the eye, she whispered, "Thank you," and the emotion that crossed his features, the moisture that gathered at the corners of his eyes, carefully balancing on his lids, had her stepping forward again, quickly placing a chaste kiss just below and to the side of his mouth. She lingered close to him, his breath skating across her face as they held perfectly still for long seconds, on the edge of something Liz couldn't quite comprehend but certainly felt as the blood rushed in her ears.

She then heard Dembe's soft voice saying Thompson was fifteen minutes out, and in the next second, Red took hold of her wrist, gently pulling, causing her hand to slide down, skimming his jacket as he stepped away. "We're going now, Lizzie."

She looks down at the cleaning supplies she had placed on the floor and begins to lean forward when he gently tugs, "Leave it. It will be taken care of." As she turns back to him, she pulls her hand away and places it at his elbow, her fingers curling over the crook before taking a firm hold. She feels a need to stay close to him, she wants to stay close to him, so she steps when he does walking ever so slightly behind him as they cross through the doorway and head up the stairs. A couple of minutes later they reach her car and she sighs, dreading the thought of moving to a new hotel. Seemingly, Red reads her mind and says, "You need a well balanced meal and a decent bed to sleep in. I have a three bedroom suite at the Oriental, why don't you stay with me tonight?"

She looks at him and immediately knows from his carefully guarded expression that he expects her to decline. She considers for a brief moment before saying, "Okay," and watches as the edges of his mouth turn up slightly as he reaches around her, pulling on the door handle.

"In case you manage to out maneuver Dembe in traffic, I'll meet you in the lobby, near the private elevators, next to the concierge desk. If anyone asks, tell them you're a guest of Mr. White."

Liz forces a small smile before climbing into the car, starting the engine and fastening her seat belt as Red softly shuts the door. As she drives away, her eyes quickly move to the rearview mirror and she sees Red standing stiffly, looking after her.

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_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Love. Not. - Chapter 2**

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Dinner proved delicious, heavenly in fact, and after three glasses of a wine that she's sure cost more than she spends each week on hotels, Liz finds herself closing her eyes for long seconds before Red's voice brings her back around. She tries to respond appropriately to the last comment he made, what she thinks he said, but his soft chuckle tells her she's more than a little off. He stands, moves around the dining table and takes hold of her arm, pulling her up, before moving her chair. When his hand finds the small of her back, she meets his gaze and he tilts his head toward the room she saw Dembe taker her bags to earlier. "Go, Lizzie. You're exhausted. Get some rest."

Liz nods. "I am tired. And with the amount of food and drink, I'm dead on my feet."

Red gently pushes her forward and Liz walks slowly to the bedroom, shutting the door before lying down on the bed the second she reaches it, pulling the extra blanket at the foot to cover her. She briefly glances at the green digits of the clock on the nightstand, 8:13 p.m., before falling into a deep sleep.

Liz wakes three hours later with a jerk, suddenly alert, but with no memory of what caused the reaction. She strips off her clothes, placing them in a pile on the dresser, and walks to the ensuite bathroom eyeing the large jetted tub before deciding on the shower. Twenty minutes later she's dressed in loose sleep pants and a v necked three quarter sleeve length t shirt towel drying her hair. When she reenters her bedroom she realizes there's a door leading to a balcony. Curious, she peeks through the heavy curtains and sees a beautiful view of the Potomac. She places her hand against the glass and it feels unexpectedly warm. The day's exceptional weather continuing into the night, the expected cold front holding off. Liz opens the sliding door, the air is somewhat cool but there's little wind so she steps out in her bare feet and walks to the railing.

Red's, "Lizzie," startles her a bit but she keeps from jumping and turns slowly to see him sitting several feet away, around the curve of the terrace on a lounger. His legs are straight out and crossed at the ankle, no shoes, no jacket or vest, shirt untucked and unbuttoned halfway down his chest. She does nothing to try and suppress the grin at his rumpled attire. When his hand moves, she notices the cigar he's holding and immediately after smells the scent - it's rich and reminds her of leather, and she wonders what it tastes like. She watches him raise his brow before he asks, "Good nap?"

She nods in response and crosses her arms as goose bumps pebble her arms and her nipples grow taught. Liz knows instantaneously that her body's reaction is from the deep register of Red's voice and not from the outside temperature, high above the river. Without giving it much thought, Liz moves forward and sits at Red's feet on the edge of the lounger rather than taking the empty one next to him. She knows she's staring as he takes a puff from the cigar but she keeps her eyes firmly planted regardless, watching his mouth move, his tongue. She recalls how sick she became the time Frank insisted she smoke a joint with him when she was seventeen, and how awful the couple of puffs of Sam's cigarette had tasted when she snuck one while in the sixth grade.

As he turned his head and blew out smoke, Liz brings her legs up, criss-crossing them in front of her, her knee bumping into his lower thigh. When he meets her eyes he asks, "Does this bother you?" indicating the cigar with a flick of his wrist.

She shakes her head and reaches out, his eyes diverting to her hand as she grasps his cigar between her thumb and forefinger, taking it from him. Her eyes meet his again as she brings the end to her mouth, his eyes boring into hers before he says, "Don't inhale, Lizzie, the flavor is meant to savored, not inhaled."

When her lips meet the tip, she feels the moisture Red's mouth left behind and unconsciously moves her tongue around the cigar. It feels incredibly intimate, what she's doing, and from his reaction - dark eyes and set jaw, he feels the same way. She puffs, feels heat in her mouth, turns the cigar as she witnessed Red do seconds earlier and puffs again. The taste isn't horrible, like she expected, and there's something about the physical movement of smoking that's inviting.

She hands the rolled tobacco out to him and says, "It's like sweet cream, with a hint of musk, a bit nutty, some cocoa - chocolate."

He grins as he takes the cigar. "Very good. All that from two puffs. You have a discernible palate."

Her eyes falls to his mouth as she replies, "No, not really. That's how you smell... at least some of the time, like earlier today."

Liz isn't sure how long her eyes remain on Red's lips but a twitch near in his cheek draws her eyes back to his and she suddenly feels a rush of embarrassment, her cheeks growing hot. She spins as she stretches out her legs, standing, then walking to the railing before placing both hands on the cool stone surface. She spots a small motor boat on the river and tracks it's slow movement near the shoreline.

She hears the rustle of clothes behind her, assumes Red is rising, moving toward her. She swallows trying to force down the lump that had grown in her throat. She's been attracted to him for much longer than she cares to admit, realization dawning with the arrival of dreams a number of weeks ago - dreams where he always ends up being the main attraction.

When she feels the heat of his breath on the back of her neck she speaks, the nervousness she'd felt growing since he'd called her out for lying about Tom, during their conversation at the Post Office, turning to frustration. "You're wrong, ya know. You don't know... how I feel." He stills and she knows he's listening, waiting, wondering where she's going with the topic of conversation. Liz breathes in through her nose then out through her mouth before continuing, "I don't love him. I never loved _him_. I loved my husband, the man who never existed - the character created by Berlin, or by Tom, or by whoever." She heaves a long sigh before continuing. "And Tom played it perfectly, he quickly determined what I wanted most, someone who loved me unconditionally because they chose to, not because there was any sort of obligation."

She feels warmth as Red's hand comes into contact with her waist, just above her hip bone, gripping softly but with firm fingers, and she closes her eyes. "Sam is the only person who's ever loved me, I know he did... but, he didn't have a choice, not really. I was brought to him."

Red's voice is quiet, consoling. "Lizzie."

Her tone grows firm, louder. "I want him gone. Not dead. You are not to touch him. This is my decision. Killing him won't change anything that's happened, it would only... what I did to him - it was monstrous. You wanted me to know about the warrior gene, to make me aware of what I'm capable of, of what drives me at times. And I now understand why you wanted me to know, so I'm not controlled by my DNA."

She feels the gentle brushing of his thumb stop it's movement and drops her head, studies her fingers which are tightly wrapped around the metal railing. "You're giving me the tools, Red. I see that now. Sometimes it takes me awhile to make the connections, to fight through what I feel, to be objective. To profile myself. And with this, to win the battle inside me, I just... I need to let him go, but I _never_ want to see him again."

Liz feels Red's thumb begin it's glide again, this time against her bare skin and she wonders if he somehow maneuvered the material of her shirt to touch her or if it rode up on its own. She knows he disagrees with her decision, can imagine the tic below his eye. She waits, anticipating an argument, then he finally says, "I have eyes on Tom and will make contact in the morning. He'll be gone by tomorrow night."

Liz turns and tilts her head back to look up at him. They're essentially barefoot and he's a good four inches taller but it seems like he's even larger because he's standing so close. His hand rises to her face, his knuckles gently brushing her cheek before his fingers slide into her hair. For a brief moment she feels anger stir and speaks with a clipped tone. "Don't ever do that again, make an assumption about how I feel about Tom," she pauses leans her head into his hand as she feels the scrape of a short nail against her scalp, then says, "Or about you... because _I_ don't understand how I feel about you." His hand freezes and his eyes open a little wider. She moves her hands from the railing, placing them at his sides, before taking a half step and hugging him tightly, pulling him flush against her body. She takes in his warmth, feels the curl of his soft chest hair against her cheek, and closes her eyes again once his fingers begin combing through her hair.

When he speaks his voice is deep and soft, near a whisper, "One day, you'll understand. And I'll be here, Lizzie, waiting." She opens her eyes when she feels him kiss the top of her head, and she pulls him even tighter against her.

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_The End_


End file.
